


once Upon a Christmas

by eggsbenni221



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:47:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsbenni221/pseuds/eggsbenni221
Summary: Just a bit of family-friendly holiday fluff. stories, snuggles, snow, and a surprise visit from Uncle Daniel. No particular universe; sprinklings of book and film references everywhere, in my usual style.
Relationships: Daniel Cleaver/Bridget Jones, Mark Darcy/Bridget Jones
Kudos: 17





	once Upon a Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Not much to this one. Just what the summary promises, but the reference to how Mark finds out that Bridget is pregnant with Mabel is head-canon. See another of my holiday fics, "Picture perfect Christmas," if you want the full story. Merry Christmas! Usual disclaimers apply: not my characters, apologies for typos, ETc.

A dusting of snow swished against the windows, providing a gentle accompaniment to the ticking clock above Mark’s study desk; yawning, he brushed a hand across his eyes and leaned back in his chair, soothing his weary gaze with the gradually darkening winter scene. Despite the Christmas card-like picture framed in the window, the message of peace on Earth and good will toward men didn’t quite reach the war-torn regions of the world where the idea of basic human rights seemed as elusive as a distant planet. Nonetheless, Mark couldn’t help smiling as he watched the swirling flakes that would, according to weather predictions, create sufficient measurable snowfall by morning to render his son nearly hysterical with delight in anticipation of the fierce snowball fight Mark had promised him. 

As Mark reached for his pen to resume making notes on the files fanned out before him, his mobile buzzed with a text. 

‘Just collecting Billy from Jeremiah’s,’ read Bridget’s message. ‘thought I’d bring home a pizza. Feeling knackered, but managed to finish the last of the Christmas shopping.’ 

Smiling, Mark typed a swift reply. ‘Three days to spare. Well done, Darling. Pizza is fine; be safe. Snow getting a bit heavy. Love you.’ 

Billy had spent the afternoon at his friend Jeremiah’s birthday party while Bridget tackled the remainder of the Christmas shopping and Mark balanced reducing the size of the work piled on his desk with watching over Mabel, who was just recovering from a winter cold. She’d obligingly spent the day camped out in his study with him, alternately sleeping and playing with her Sylvanian bunnies. She’d been engrossed for the last hour or so in watching Spongebob on the iPad, and mindful of the screen-time limits he and Bridget insisted on, Mark glanced first at the clock and then at his daughter, only to discover she’d fallen asleep again. One arm dangled from the sofa; the other clutched her dolly, Saliva. Mark’s heart melted each time he set eyes on her; impetuous and inquisitive, with a penchant for mischief and utterly no verbal filter, Mabel was her mother in miniature, from her wide, blue eyes and infectious laugh to the ease with which she twisted her father round her little finger. Mark rose quietly and crossed the room to shift Mabel into a more comfortable position. As he brushed her curls back from her face, her eyes popped open, and she smiled up at him. 

“Are you finished working, Daddy?” 

“Nearly. How are you feeling, princess? Any better?” Mabel nodded. “good. Do you need anything?” 

She hesitated, biting her lip. “can you cuddle with me?” 

Mark cast only the briefest of glances at the work still piled on his desk before turning his attention back to his daughter. “Scoot over.” Mabel shifted aside to make room for him; then snuggled into his lap as he tugged a blanket round them both. “There. Comfy?” Mabel nodded. 

“Good.”

With a contented sigh, Mark rested his chin on the top of her head and let his gaze settle on the collection of photographs on his desk. As it often did during this season, the picture with Bridget and Billy, taken in Borough Market the first Christmas after their wedding drew his attention. As he contemplated their wide smiles and matching jumpers, Mark could almost feel the warmth of his son’s tiny fingers clinging to his. Meeting Bridget’s eyes in that moment, exchanging smiles over the top of Billy’s head, Mark had understood that the magic of Christmas lay in its power to create perfect moments in an imperfect world. In the midst of his reverie, Mabel lifted her head and broke into his thoughts. 

“Daddy?” 

“Hmm?” 

“What’s your favorite thing about Christmas?” 

Mark considered the question as a reel of images unfurled in his mind; somehow, the festive joy of the season was, for him, inextricably linked to Bridget and the inception of their relationship. They’d always known that Billy and Mabel, like all children, would inevitably and predictably beg for the “how Mummy and Daddy met” story, but this anticipation notwithstanding, they hadn’t yet worked out how to skate over the less G-rated points in that story. Suppressing a grin, Mark shoved aside the visual of an insufficiently-clad Bridget, arms and legs wound around him, the heat of their kiss seeming intense enough to melt the snow swirling in the air. 

“Daddy!” Mabel tugged on his sleeve. “You didn’t answer my question!” 

“Well, it’s a very hard question. I’m not sure I can settle on just one favorite thing about Christmas.” 

“But if you had to,” Mabel insisted, “what would you choose?” 

“Well. . .” Mark scratched his chin, thinking; when his eyes landed again on the picture he’d been contemplating moments before, he smiled as another memory from that day played itself in his mind—Bridget snuggled in his lap as they admired their newly-decorated Christmas tree, her eyes alight from the reflected glow of the crackling fire as she linked her fingers through his and whispered, guiding his hand to her waist, that she had an early Christmas present for him. To have Bridget beside him again had already felt like all and more than Mark deserved; with the surprise package of Billy and later, the promise of their family continuing to flourish, he’d felt blessed beyond measure. 

“Do you see that picture?” he asked Mabel now. 

Mabel frowned as she squinted at it. “I don’t like that picture.” 

“Why ever not?” asked Mark, laughing. 

“Because I’m not in it.” 

“Ah, but actually, you are; you’re just hiding.” 

Mabel’s frown deepened. “You’re being ridiculous, Daddy.” 

“I most certainly am not.” 

“But how would I be hiding?” 

“Well,” he explained, “the thing is, Mummy had only just found out that you were starting to grow inside her. You were very, very little; I could have held you in the palm of one hand.” Mabel’s eyes widened. “I didn’t even know yet, but later that night, Mummy told me, as a special surprise for Christmas.” 

“So I was your Christmas present?” asked Mabel, eyes glowing. 

“you were,” said Mark, kissing the crown of her head, “and you were the most perfect Christmas gift I could have ever imagined. Look,” he added, gesturing to another picture in which he cradled Mabel just hours after her birth, her tiny form nestled securely in the crook of his arm, one hand clinging to his finger. “There you are; my perfect princess.” 

“Am I still perfect?” 

“Absolutely. Wonderfully, beautifully perfect, just as you are.” 

Mabel snuggled closer and closed her eyes, and Mark must, he supposed, have dropped off to sleep; the next thing he knew, he’d received a sudden jolt at the distant slam of the door and rushing footsteps before Billy burst into the room. With a joyful whoop, he leapt onto the sofa, elbowing Mark in the side in his feverish excitement and effectively rousing him. 

“Billy,” Bridget admonished, attempting to pry Billy off his father’s chest. “Was that really necessary?” 

“Yes!” Billy exclaimed, bouncing in place beside Mark, whose expression was indecisively frozen between irritation and amusement. “Dad, it’s snooooowing!” 

Mark sat up, yawning and rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. “Yes, I can see that. Thank you for the weather bulletin.” 

“Does this mean we can have our snowball fight tomorrow?” 

Mark eyed the cloud of white obscuring the window and nodded. “I think so.” 

“Could we invite Uncle Daniel as well?” 

“I don’t see why not, if your Uncle Daniel has nothing better to do on a Sunday morning than be pelted with frozen water by an 8 year-old.” 

“Yes!” Billy punched his fist in the air. “Prepare to be defeated!” 

Mark lifted a brow. “Are you so sure about that, little man?” 

“He doesn’t need to be,” Bridget chimed in. “In a fight with you and Daniel, my money’s on Billy with one arm tied behind his back. I’ve seen the way the pair of you fight.” Brow furrowed, Mabel looked prepared to pepper her mother with questions about the comment, but Mark, the hint of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, nudged her toward the door. 

“Never mind your mum. Go wash up for dinner; we’ll be along in a moment.” 

Once the children had scurried from the room, Bridget flopped down onto the sofa and snuggled into Mark’s embrace as he bent to kiss her. “Have you been hard at work all day?” 

He nodded. “Mostly, minus occasional cuddle breaks with Mabel.” 

“Are you okay?” asked Bridget, pulling back to examine his face. “You look upset.” 

Mark pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. “It’s nothing. At least, well. . .” 

“Well?” she prompted. 

“It’s just. . . would it be too much to ask to live in a world where people have the barest inkling of how to treat one another with human dignity?” 

“Oh, sweetie.” Bridget reached to squeeze his hand. “I know it seems sometimes like you’re just one decent person in an increasingly shitty and unfair world, but you’re one person that does an incredible amount of good, and you know what they say; you might just be one person in the world, but you might also be the world to one person.” Mark smiled. “Not to mention, I don’t think I need to remind you of at least three people who think the world of you. You know, I got chatting a bit with Jeremiah’s dad when I went to collect Billy; Billy can never stop bragging about you to his friends, so I mean, if you want to put things into perspective, at the end of the day, whether you win or lose, you’re still a hero to the children.” 

“And what about you?” asked Mark, lifting one brow. 

“Well. . .” Bridget appeared to consider the question. “I was going to say you’re still a boring old man who works too hard and folds his underpants, but you look like you’ve had a hard enough day.” 

Laughing, Mark enfolded her in a tight hug. “I love you, Bridget.” 

“I love you too. Now come on before all the pizza is gone.” 

* * *

Once pizza had been consumed, the children begged to watch a Christmas film, to which their parents readily agreed. Bridget sent them upstairs to put on their pajamas before returning to tidy up the kitchen. She prepared hot chocolate for Billy and Mabel and poured a glass of wine each for herself and Mark while he lit a fire and switched on the Christmas tree lights. They’d all just settled down, cuddled beneath blankets and drinks within reach when a knock sounded at the front door. 

“Who could that be at this hour?” wondered Mark, frowning at the still-swirling snow beyond the windows. 

“Santa!” piped up Mabel, jumping down from the sofa and scurrying for the door. 

“I don’t think so, darling.” Puzzled, he followed her, and when he pulled open the door, he ushered in a flurry of snow and. . . 

“Uncle Daniel!!” Mabel flung her arms round his waist with a squeal before he even had a chance to step inside. 

“Merry Christmas, Darcys,” he greeted as Bridget and Billy joined them to investigate the source of the commotion. 

“Daniel!” exclaimed Bridget, taking his coat and reaching up to peck his cheek. “What are you doing here?” 

“The thing is,” replied Daniel, flopping onto the sofa beside Billy, “I was just sitting alone in my flat--” 

“No date tonight,” Mark translated. 

“I’ll have you know. . . okay, yeah, but the point is, I suddenly found myself in need of some Christmas cheer.” He cast an almost wistful look at the twinkling tree. 

Mark met his best friend’s gaze with a warm smile. “Well, we’re glad to see you.” He left the room to fetch Daniel a drink, returning just in time for another round of questions from Mabel. 

“Mummy, what’s your favorite thing about Christmas?” Bridget locked eyes with Mark as he reentered the room, and he knew, from the warm light he saw there, that she was wrapped in the memory of their budding courtship just as he had been earlier that day. 

“That’s easy,” she said, turning back to Mabel. “Didn’t I ever tell you your dad and I first started going out with each other at Christmas time?” 

“Really?” Mabel’s own eyes shone with wonder at what Mark supposed was a Cinderella-worthy Christmas fairytale playing out in her imagination. 

“Yes, and you know, it’s really incredible, actually, because when Granny Elaine tried to talk him round to asking me out, your dad said he didn’t really fancy me at all.” 

Mabel frowned. “But you and Daddy love each other. Maybe he was just shy.” 

“Yes, right.” Mark cleared his throat. “I think that will be the explanation on-record.” 

“Now, hang on a second, Jones,” Daniel chimed in. “If you’re going to tell this story, aren’t you forgetting there were two princes and one beautiful princess?” 

“I thought,” Mark quipped, “that you were the villain of the piece.” 

“Now, that’s a bit unfair.” 

“Perhaps this isn’t quite the time or the place,” said Mark. 

“No, wait,” Billy interrupted. “I want to hear this.” 

“come on, Darce, they were going to find out sooner or later.” 

“My preference was for later,” replied Mark, “but you started this, Cleaver, so you finish it.” 

“Right then. Well, you see, children, a long time ago, before either of you were born, I met a beautiful, charming princess, only I didn’t realize at first she was a princess because she was disguised as a bunny.” 

“Dear God.” At a loss, Mark cradled his head in his hands while Bridget endeavored to restrain her laughter. 

“Who was the princess?” asked Mabel. 

“Your mum, of course, and all I had to do to break the spell and turn her back into a princess was take her out to dinner.” 

“Uncle Daniel,” Billy said slowly, brow furrowed, “that doesn’t sound right.” 

“Because,” replied Mark, “it didn’t quite happen that way.” 

“It certainly did,” insisted Daniel in mock indignation. 

“So what happened after that?” prompted Mabel. “Did you fall in love with Mummy?” 

Daniel flashed Bridget a grin before turning back to his goddaughter. “Who wouldn’t. Your mum was the prettiest princess I ever saw.” 

“None of this makes any sense,” Billy protested, glancing between his parents. “How did Mum and Dad wind up together, then?” 

“Because your dad rode in like a knight on a white horse and swept your mum off her feet, and that was the end of me.” 

“That,” interrupted Mark, “is most certainly not what happened.” 

“come on, Darce, it’s Christmas.” 

“It is, and at Christmas, you tell the truth. That’s the rumor I hear, anyway.” 

Daniel’s expression turned serious as he looked toward Bridget again. “Sometimes grownup love is messy and confusing, and it doesn’t always work out like a fairytale. When I saw your mum and dad together, I realized he made her very happy, and I loved your mum enough to want her to be happy, so they lived happily ever after, and I never found another princess as pretty or as kind as your mum.” 

“Or one who’d put up with you,” added Bridget. 

“But weren’t you friends with Daddy?” queried Mabel. “Didn’t it make you sad, or jealous?” 

“Good Lord, child, you ask a lot of questions.” Daniel studied Mark and Bridget standing beside each other, observing the way she absently linked her fingers through his or the way he reached up to toy with the ends of her hair. “I was,” he admitted finally, “but I also know your dad pretty well, better than he thinks I do sometimes, and I knew he was the only person in the world who could make your mum so happy.” 

Tears glistened in Bridget’s eyes, and she gently disentangled herself from Mark, crossing the room to wrap Daniel in a hug. “You know I love you, Daniel.” 

“Oh, Jones, of course, but. . .” Daniel pulled her closer and whispered into her ear to prevent the children hearing, but Mark just caught the words. “I suppose a shag would be out of the question?” Bridget swatted his arm, and he laughed, leaning over to kiss her forehead. “I love you too, Jones.” 

* * *

Daniel staid for Christmas films and hot chocolate until the children began to fall asleep and had to be herded upstairs by Bridget. Billy propped his tired eyes open long enough to give his godfather a hug. 

“I’m going to have a snowball fight with Dad tomorrow. He promised. Can you come?” 

“Hmm.” Daniel glanced at Mark over the top of Billy’s head. “A fight? Should I bring my dueling pistols or my swords?” Mark merely rolled his eyes before detaching his bleary-eyed son from Daniel and gently nudging him toward Bridget. 

“Night, Daniel.” Bridget gave him a swift kiss before guiding the children upstairs. 

“Listen, Darce, you know I was just taking the piss earlier, right?” 

“God, yes.” 

“You’ve got a good thing here, Mark, you know?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’ve wondered sometimes, if I’d been less of an idiot, but I meant what I said. I think it’s all worked out for the best, and you know, I never really imagined wanting a family of my own, but it’s, um, I mean, I really appreciate being part of yours.” 

“It’s our pleasure,” murmured Mark, “even if you’re an utterly hopeless liability as a baby-sitter and haven’t the barest idea of how to distinguish between a fork and a hairbrush.” 

“Sort of thing that could happen to anyone, you know, but you’d never have me any other way, would you?” 

“No, I suppose not.” 

* * *

Once Daniel had left and the remnants of the impromptu holiday party had been cleared away, Bridget snuggled up to Mark on the sofa. “That was fun,” she murmured. 

“Yes, if a bit unexpected. I think Daniel is good for us.” 

Bridget raised her head. “I think we’re good for Daniel, actually.” Recalling Daniel’s departing words, Mark nodded and patted her hand. “He did wind you up a bit,” she admitted. “although I rather like the idea of being a bunny princess, and he did get one thing right.” 

“Oh?” the flames still flickering in the fireplace reflected in Bridget’s eyes as she looked up at him. 

“You do make me happy.” 

Smiling, Mark lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. “That was my favorite part too.” 


End file.
